


The List

by Torchwoodlover123



Category: Sherlock (TV), Torchwood
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, thethirdholmes, threeholmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-10
Updated: 2017-10-06
Packaged: 2018-12-26 06:17:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12053073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchwoodlover123/pseuds/Torchwoodlover123
Summary: They always wrote lists. No matter what alley or doss house they found themselves in, there would always be a list.Kind of ties in with The Third Holmes idea but slightly darker, yes I know I've been gone a long time and this is a bad idea considering I havent updated my other fics but my brain took the idea and ran with it.





	1. Chapter 1

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. 

He was lying under the coffee table, his suit jacket strewn over the black suede sofa crumpled where he had flung it in a hurry to rid his stomach of the rats. He concentrated on the best way to manoeuvre himself from under the table whilst trying not to make the room spin anymore than it already was, he struggled as his head reeled with the slightest movement. After a few minutes, or was it seconds? His brain hadn't caught up yet, he was clear of the table and splayed in the centre of his small but neat living room. The room felt foggy, as if he wasn't wearing his glasses, but he knew he was wearing contact lenses and would be okay if only the room would stop spinning. Focus Holmes. Focus? Yes the room came into focus and his eyes rested on the top of the glass table he has previously been under. Wallet, spoon, syringe, list and gun.   When he was certain his vision had returned to normality,he realised his high was over. He groaned and tidied away the familiar equipment that had begun to litter his apartment more and more. He picked up the spoon and syringe, and dropped them into a bag where he had earlier discarded the lighter and the now sadly empty plastic wrapper. The gun and wallet were left on the table, he wasn't expecting visitors and on the rare occasion one did drop by they would not be shaken by a Glock30 on the coffee table. The drugs were a different story. He took the bag into his bedroom and tossed it into the bottom of a wardrobe. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he moved to answer it, tremors from the withdrawal already setting in despite shooting up two hours before. Tolerance was growing again, shit, that stuffs expensive and he can't afford the amount his body needs, he could dip into his family account, it was his money but since leaving London he shut off all communication with his parents and did not want their unwanted attention should they notice him withdrawing from his frozen accounts. He turned to leave the room as he pulled the phone up to his ear, the room went sideways and his body hit the floor. Wrong deduction, not withdrawal...overdose. The phone rang out , "you've reached the voicemail of Ianto Jones please leave a message.." 

The room came into focus and ianto proceeded to sit up. "Well that was fun" he shifted so he could stand up but vomited before he could even get to a kneeling position. "Brilliant, this is a new suit" Ianto then moved very slowly until he was upright and then took small steps towards his bathroom, he peeled off his layers and ran the shower. The young man stood there and let the water soak his skin, trying to ignore the smell of vomit in the air. He closed his eyes...

 

_Ianto crouched on the ground next to his brother and studied the foot print indented into the grass that covered their neighbours garden._

_"Size 6, heavier indent in the right footprint, so bears more weight on the right side of their body, no indication of a cane being used though"_

_"So not a long term injury?"_

_"No- judging by the pressure they applied id say it was a sprain. Given the foot prints are heading away from the house and that no one in their right mind would go into a robbery if they knew an injury were to slow them down we can deduct-"_

_"They sustained the injury inside. There's a good chance fibre would have snagged on a piece of furniture and depending on their pain tolerance they could have left blood splatter from their ankle connecting with a surface."_

_The sun was blocked from their view as a figure approached them, both boys looked up and scowled._

_"Ianto mummy wants to see you about your school report."_

_"Mycroft you can call her mum now, you are 26 years old... you're supposed to be the clever one, you don't sound very clever saying things like that" Ianto jumped up and faced Mycroft head on._

_"Think how you like brother mine, but I AM the clever one" the eldest Holmes fixed him with a glare and stayed rooted to the spot where their neighbours fence opened into their garden._

_"If you'd like to move Mycroft I shan't keep ''mummy' waiting" Ianto pushed past Mycroft to trudge into the lavish home that their parents owned. Sherlock finished noting down his observations and then looked up at Mycroft._

_"He's improving My, maybe he isn't so normal after all?" Sherlock stood and picked a piece of mud out of his disheveled brown curls._

_"Sherlock we've talked about this, maybe he's better going to university next year being as least like us as possible"_

_"What are you trying to say?" Sherlock glared at Mycroft now willing him to say the things he usually hid in subtext._

_"Sherlock in your time at oxford so far you have managed to alienate everyone and acquire the nickname freak, ianto is better off changing his name and forgetting his deduction skills as soon as possible"_

_Sherlock thought for a moment and then nodded_

_"Why would he want to be normal though? It's so.... boring."_

 

Iantos eyes snapped open and he remembered where he was. His gaze shifted to the clothes in a heap on the floor, acidic vapour; conclusion sick, headache like he's spent an hour in a mosh pit; the cause- hitting the floor and the water pounding off his back? He'd been in the shower for an hour and all the hot water had run out. 

 Sighing and running a hand through his hair he calculated how many steps it would be from here to the toilet; 4, how many seconds it would take for him to make himself sick; approximately 5 and the amount of traffic he'd encounter if he drove himself to a and e; far too much for it to be worth the bother. So he climbed out the shower and opted for the former two choices instead. He threw the suit and shirt into his washing machine and settled into bed wearing an old rugby shirt and joggers. The sun was coming up as iantos head hit the pillow and the stopwatch ticked past the 7am mark. 

Ianto was no stranger to losing time when using, so no, not using, "experimenting"- Sherlock 'used', sometimes Mycroft 'tested' the drugs infiltrating his family  but ianto only ever used drugs for 'experiments'. His latest one? How numb could he become to his bodys lovely little quirks, how much heroin would stop him being able to tell how many days, hours and seconds it had been since Owen had sex based on the way he buttoned up his jacket, would more than a 7% solution of cocaine drown out the impulses to join jack on the roof one night and throw himself off before the American could figure out what was going on, if he cannot talk due to an insane amount of ketamine would it stop him lapsing into his native London tongue instead of his fake Welsh one and how many times can you bleed on a bathroom floor before it becomes your last resting place. 

He slept until late afternoon, he would've stayed there all day if it weren't for the sharp knocking on his door.

"Ianto?! You in there?! Ianto if you don't answer I'm coming in!" The Americans voice echoed down the small hallway to iantos apartment, no doubt that'll give his neighbours another reason to talk to him now (groan). Ianto pulled on a hoodie and shuffled to the front door, making sure to kick the bedroom door closed and move the list to the kitchen counter where it was less likely to be in plain sight. 

"Just a minute sir" his hands shook as his fumbled for the key, Ianto took a moment to focus on them keeping still, it was difficult as the air he could feel around the door told him jack was very close to the other side and the balance of probability suggested he would follow through on his word about breaking the door down very soon. Not iantos best deductions but jack is very predictable like that. The door swung open and the captain stepped back 

"Ianto!" The grin on his face began to falter "you look.... like shit" the older man stepped closer and Ianto moved to let him into his apartment. 

"You er never called in sick, I was worried, practically had to force Owen to stay in the hub cause he was intent on giving you a full checkup." He grinned towards the end of his sentence, the idea of Owen doing that was laughable and endearing, unfortunately iantos observations told him they weren't true and that the doctor was perfectly content dissecting alien guts back in the mortuary. 

"Sorry sir, bad hangover, just a bit tired, I'll be in later?" Ianto noticed jacks eyes stray towards the jacket still crumpled on the sofa, Ianto was tidy- that was not Ianto like. Bloody hell the guy must be feeling like shit, usually the young man in front of him was so neat yet he was too tired to move what is now a very creased item of clothing. 

"Ianto take the day off, you need it" Ianto read the emotion in jacks eyes, 'pity definitely pity, emotions aren't very easy to decipher but I know that one' a small rage bubbled in his chest but Ianto knew to get jack out of his flat he needed to play this situation, "thank you jack, coffee before you go?" The mask was back on and Ianto slipped into the role he had made for himself, quiet observant Ianto, Welsh and polite. He followed jack into the kitchen and nearly choked when he saw the American lean on the counter and and watched as he picked up a piece of paper and began to unfold it. 

"What's this? Shopping list?"


	2. Chapter 2

As if on cue jacks earpiece made a small sound and the captains attention focused on Gwens voice in his ear. Ianto took the opportunity to crumple up the paper as jack paced listening to the young Welsh woman's description of an alien they had seen on the quay moments before.  
"Ah sounds like a zandraflax, hold on I'll be there in ten" jack winked at ianto and headed for the door.  
"Sorry ianto coffee can wait! See you tomorrow!" The door slammed as he exited iantos apartment and the young man shoulders sagged in relief.

 _"Why is Sherlock such an insufferable bastard" Ianto muttered as he balanced his dirty dishes on his arms and calculated the width of the doorway into his kitchen in relation to the pots he had in his arms. Mycroft blocked the doorway and smirked, the new position he had taken in the government had only succeeded in inflating his ego, the two men stood there for a second before Mycroft spoke._  
 _"Because Sherlock is incapable of emotional intelligence, in the same way you are incapable of his intellect" he moved to let his_ _younger brother pass.  
'And your incapable of not being a massive bell end' Ianto thought to himself as he began to load the dishwasher.  
"What did he do?" Mycroft sat and leaned back in his chair, his tone softened and the care he had for the youngest Holmes actually came to the surface._  
 _"He kept pressuring me to tell him about the girl I've met at uni, then continued to tell me I'm not using my skills enough just because I don't want to pay attention to all the tiny details about a person, it gets irritating mycroft! I don't want to know every single thing there is to know about everything, I don't care if my professor is shagging a student by the way he marks her papers, I don't want to be Highest in my class, I couldn't give a shit if I dropped out right now, I just don't get the obsession with being this deduction machine fuelled by puzzles and a need to be the worlds biggest smart arse" Ianto slammed the dishwasher and stared out the window of their kitchen. Mycroft ran a hand through his hair and sighed,  
"It's getting worse isn't it_?"  
 _"I can't turn it off anymore Myc it's too difficult." Ianto turned to face his brother but kept his eyeline to the floor, if he'd have looked into Mycroft eyes he may have seen the older man knit his brow into worry before patting him on the back and leaving the room._

The rest of iantos day passed in a blur of crappy tv, shouting at Jeremy Kyle more than once and commenting "of course he's not the father look at the turn up on his jeans!" Unknowing that at the same time a lanky Londoner in a dingy flat of the name 221b was doing exactly the same thing.


End file.
